A Perfect Soldier
by YoungFreak92
Summary: He isn't human. He is a perfect soldier. He must be a perfect soldier, because what would he otherwise be? He is inhuman, a freak of nature. Being a perfect soldier gives him an excuse to be it. [postShadow Moses][possible DaveHal preslash]


**A Perfect Soldier**

You have never been a man that cared for what others thought of you. You have never been a man that cared for others. You have never been a man that cared at all. It's not your fault. You were raised to be that way, born to be that way. _Created_ to be that way. You are not a mere human like the rest of us, you are a superior being. Your body and health is extra-ordinarily good, and your psyche fit a soldier's perfectly. Did you never wonder why? Did you ever lay awake at night, wondering why you've joined the military in the first place? Why you were so superior to your peers? Why your superiors always expected more from you than from the others? You didn't? Do you now regret that you never questioned anything, that you always just did what they told you to do? Are you angry at yourself for just buying the family-died-in-a-car-crash-and-you-winded-up-at-a-military-orphanage-story like the dumb grunt you are? Well, that's not your fault either. You are not supposed to wonder, to question. To disobey. A perfect soldier isn't supposed to refuse orders, he is supposed to follow them even if it costs him his life. Do you know why you are a perfect soldier? Because you have nothing that can distract you from your duty, nothing that you also hold loyalty to. You have no family. You have no friends. You have no lover. You have no enemies. You don't have anything that you treasure, not even your own life. You have only got your country, and your duty. That's why you are a perfect soldier. Perfect soldiers are not humans, they are something even greater. But you never got a chance to choose if you wanted to be human or not. There is no point in lying awake at night, musing over the meaning of life. You are not human, you are a perfect soldier. You were raised to be that way, it is your _destiny _to be that way. Cleverly manipulated to be cold and uncaring. Designed to be the closest to immortal one can ever be. That is why you don't care for what others think of you. You are a well-trimmed killing machine. A perfect soldier. Inhuman. Because you can't be a perfect soldier and human at the same time, it's not possible.  
But what is this? The door behind you opens and a soft voice is calling your... name? Don't be silly, you don't have a name. Perfect soldiers do not have names. But this person addresses you with a four letter long word that you have fooled yourself into thinking to be your name. Why are you not turning around to look at this person? Why are you just staring at the floor, immobile save for your hand holding your cigarette? Why are you just continuing smoking as if nothing happened? Don't you hear how much this person cares for you, how his voice is filled with concern and maybe even disappointment? Don't you hear that a _human_ is calling your attention? Or is that the reason why don't turn around? Because you are ashamed? Are you ashamed of the bottle of whiskey that you opened this evening and now is almost empty, ashamed of the full ash-tray beside you that gives away that you've been smoking all night long? Are you ashamed of not being as human as this person so painfully obviously is? Don't try to fool yourself. You are not ashamed. You cannot feel shame. Shame is an emotion, and you can't feel those. You are a perfect soldier, remember? Inhuman. You hear how the door closes and how the person behind you comes closer to the chair in the middle of the room that you have occupied. You are putting out your cigarette. How considerate of you. But why aren't you reaching for your gun? How can you be so sure that this person doesn't carry a knife and is about to stab you in the back?  
Hm, what was that? You trust him? You_ trust _him? My dear, perfect soldiers do not_ trust _other persons. Because if they do, they will eventually be back-stabbed. And being back-stabbed results in grief, which is an emotion. Do you remember what we told you about emotions? Perfect soldiers do not have emotions. Only humans have emotions. And you are not human. The person is right behind you now, it is only the back of the chair that is dividing the two of you. How can you be so sure that he is not going to kill you? You still haven't turned around to greet this person. If you trust this person so much, isn't that a little rude of you not to? Once again, you feel that ache in your stomach, like some has stabbed you in the gut. Oh yes, you know all about how that feels, don't you? But since no blood is gushing out of your stomach, why are you feeling this pain then? Is it... this shame again? Are you ashamed of letting this person see you this way, trying to drown your anguish in alcohol and nicotine? Are you ashamed to let this person see how weak you really are? Don't be silly. You, you are not weak. You _cannot _be weak. Perfect soldiers are not weak, and you are a perfect soldier, aren't you? You are not human, so you must be. If you aren't a perfect soldier, then you would just be inhuman. You hear the rustle of fabric and you feel how two warm arms lay down on your shoulders, pulling you into a loose embrace. How can you be so sure it is an embrace? This person has his arms around your neck, this person might as well try to choke you any second. But you don't move at all. The person sighs and buries his face in your hair, taking deep breaths. Are you going to tolerate this? Who does this person think he is? How does this person dare to come so close, to touch you, to invade your private space?  
Hm? What is this? You are raising your hand and uncertainly touch one of the person's. It's not actually a touch, more of a brushing of skin against skin. The person's hold around you tightens a bit and you can almost feel a smile on his face. Now you feel something, and almost become a bit scared. You are not used to feel anything. But you still feel that soft heat in your chest, that indescribable ache that almost makes you feel good. Do you know what it is? It's called happiness, and it's an emotion. You are not supposed to feel emotions, remember? You are a perfect soldier. You are inhuman. But you still feel it, so what does that make you? Do you remember the conclusion from before? Wouldn't you rather be a perfect soldier than a freak of nature? Wouldn't you rather be praised than loathed? Wouldn't you...  
You suddenly hear this person mumbles that four letter long word again into your hair, his voice is almost tender. You reply this time, although hesitating, you whisper the person's name but wince at how hoarse and hostile your voice sounds. Why? Were you trying to sound as tender as that person? Now why would you try to do that? Hm? Oh, don't be silly. You say that you _care_ about this person? That is simply ridiculous. You do not care about others. Perfect soldiers do not care about others, remember? Only humans care about others. But you aren't human. You're inhuman, remember? You are a freak of nature, artificially created to be a perfect soldier. That's the only purpose in your life. If you're not a perfect soldier, you will just be something inhuman without a purpose to live. Choosing to not be a perfect soldier isn't an option, you cannot escape your destiny. And if you were to give up that title, it wouldn't be your salvation. It would be your damnation. If you're not a perfect soldier you don't have an excuse for what you are, and people will loathe you. Rightfully. Because no one will ever care about something so twisted, so _wrong_, as an artificially created killing-machine in a human-disguise. Don't you agree? Now, shove away this person and get back to your purpose. The government sure has a mission for you. But before you have the time to do anything, the person speaks up.  
"Dave," he starts in an unsure voice. "I... if you want to... talk, I just... just want you to know that I... I'll... I will listen to you". And you, you fool, start to talk.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I finally managed to write a _Metal Gear Solid_ fanfiction. This is the first time I have ever written Second Person POV, and the general flow of the story is a bit different from what I usually write. I want to thank Raye for beta-ing this, your positive feedback meant the world to me. When I wrote this I first thought of Hal and Dave still being strangers to each other, but the story took a slight turn, so feel free to interpret this as friendship, pre-slash or slash - whatever's your cup of tea. Constructive critique is very much appreciated, and if you see a grammatical error, feel free to point it out.


End file.
